


He Who Trusts in the Shadow

by Plainxte



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Nightmares, Platonic Froger, Sharing a Bed, Touring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24557650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plainxte/pseuds/Plainxte
Summary: A night when the darkness got a bit too close. Or: about dreams and friendship
Relationships: Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury/David Minns (mentioned), Freddie Mercury/Mary Austin (past)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 46
Collections: Freddie Mercury Weekend 2020!





	He Who Trusts in the Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quirkysubject](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkysubject/gifts).



> First things first: nastally and quirkysubject helped me with the timeline and with sorting out who lived where when and with whom. Thank you so much! ❤️
> 
> The prompt for this was "That Time Freddie Could Not Bear To Be Alone"

_May 1975_

*

"Oh. Oh no." Freddie put his hands over his mouth. "Please no." His voice was muffled by his hands, but he was too shocked to do anything about it.

Mary sighed, sadly. "Freddie, I can't help it. I promised. We've planned this since March. You know that. I really can't cancel anymore. And it's just for the weekend. It's just a short time. It'll be over before you know it. And you'll be fine. Really."

Had they talked about it? Maybe they had. Probably they had. Maybe Mary had mentioned it in one of their phone calls, but if she had, he had completely forgotten about it. To be fair, it wasn't easy to keep track of what was happening at home while on tour. And this time around, it had been completely impossible: the whirlwind of the American tour and the amazing experience that had been Japan had left all of them reeling, unbelieving. It was difficult enough to adjust to the thought of being back in London, and to his life as it was before the tour, much less to actually keep on top of things. But it didn't make the thought any easier.

"Please," Freddie repeated. He couldn't believe it. Rationally, he knew that Mary was right and he was being incredibly selfish. And careless of her feelings. He knew that already when he uttered the word. But knowing something and feeling it were two very different things.

"I'm sorry, Freddie. But I must go now."

And with that, she was out of the door. Freddie was left behind. He listened to the sound of the car door slamming, and then the car driving away. The noise of the traffic went on in the street. He could hear a bird singing somewhere near, but it was no help. Neither was the knowledge that somewhere outside the flat, it was an incredibly beautiful spring evening. The world was out there, but he was trapped inside.

He was alone.

He would be alone for the whole weekend.

He couldn't do it.

He would have to do it.

He looked apprehensively around him, bringing his arms up, hugging himself for a moment. Then he walked to the window; back to the front door; came to rest in the middle of the room. 

Well. 

The first thing to do, obviously, was to find something to, well, do. Something that would keep his mind from circling, and keep the shadows away. He considered going out, but the thought didn't really appeal. He was still feeling a little tired, and had been planning a night in. So that was out of the question.

He took out a pen and some paper, and sketched for a bit. A couple of quick line drawings, and a tentative beginning of a portrait of one of the cats. That wasn't too bad. Time was passing, wasn't it? The evening was really already quite far along.

Freddie stretched, straightening his back out. He got up and walked slowly to the piano. He doodled around on the keyboard for a little while before settling in and starting to work more seriously. There was a passage in a new song that he should fix; he hadn't quite been able to get it to sound exactly right. Or it was half a song, really, at this point. But he was confident it was coming along, just as soon as he found the right progression of chords for that particular part. It was there, somewhere maddeningly close, hovering at the edge of his consciousness, if he only could get hold of it...

He worked contentedly enough for a while, but eventually it started to get too dark to see properly. Reluctantly, he conceded defeat and went to light a lamp – and immediately the silence in the flat was oppressing. Deafening, if silence could be that. The moment the last echoes from the piano faded, it wrapped the whole room in its embrace, and didn't seem to be letting go any time soon.

Wine? Would that work? He pursed his lips. They still had half a bottle left over from the other night. He considered it, and decided against it. Drinking alone in the echoing loneliness of the flat seemed like too much. Perhaps tea would be a better idea?

Freddie absentmindedly petted the handsome ginger cat that was rubbing against his legs. If he just resolutely ignored the fact that he was alone, the old nightmares wouldn't touch him, would they? He would be able to sleep, wouldn't he? And if you thought about, he wasn't actually alone, was he? The cats were here, after all.

"Yes. Yes, you are," he murmured to the ginger.

He glanced at the clock, and to his surprise, he saw that it really was already quite late. But the idea of sleeping – sleeping alone – didn't appeal, at all. The shadows would be coming far too close, far too easily and quickly, if he tried to go to bed right now. Better not try. Maybe he could get some sleep if he did something else first?

Freddie wandered over to the LP player. Something to break that horrible silence, maybe? An opera recording that he had bought sometime around Christmas, just before they left for the last leg of their tour, caught his eye. He picked the record up from a shelf by the player, the blue and golden cover enticing in the lamplight.

He put the first disc on the turntable, and after a moment of fiddling, he settled down to listen to Ulysses lamenting his fate. The music was beautiful, and for a moment, he was transported into the world of the story, lost in the shifting sounds and the rhythms of the voice singing.

But suddenly, he remembered. He shuddered. He remembered poring over the liner notes, fascinated by the story. And he remembered too well what the singer was saying: _Am I still asleep, or am I awake? Who has changed my rest into torture?... Oh sleep! Some call you the brother of death… If the shadow is the sister of sleep, then he who trusts in the shadow can only blame himself when he is lost._

And then: _Why did you leave me alone on this desolate shore… miserable and abandoned?_

It was all too much; it struck too close to home. It sounded too much like everything he didn't want to think about. Abruptly, he lifted the needle from the turntable, and put the record carefully away in its sleeve. He tried to put it out of his thoughts. 

But eventually, he had to try to go to sleep. There was nothing else for it. He'd already made up his mind to not go out, after all, and anyway, it was too late for that now. He sighed. One of the kimonos he had brought from Japan was hanging on the door of the wardrobe in the bedroom; he ran his hand over the fabric, comforted by the smoothness and the coolness.

Freddie lay down on the bed, trying to calm his mind down, and to not think about anything. He was at home, everything was all right, nothing was wrong. Nothing that he needed to worry about. He was safe. He could close his eyes and relax. For a while, it seemed as though it was working, and he felt himself slowly drifting towards sleep.

He was startled back awake by a screech of car brakes from outside. He blinked in the weak light of the bedroom. What had he been dreaming about? There had been something… something chasing him? He sat up abruptly. He didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he couldn't stay in bed for a moment longer. The thought of staying in the bedroom filled him with dread.

He was alone. So very alone. Not a single soul in the world left but him; no one there, no one to hear him cry, no one to comfort him, no one to care about what happened to him…

He took the kimono quickly but carefully down from its hanger, wrapping it around himself and padding out into the other room with swift steps, putting on every light he could reach on the way.

Maybe he could read something? His fingers touched the cover of a novel that Mary had bought him last year but that he hadn't even started. Perhaps not. He picked up a notebook with a green cover from beside the novel, flipping through the pages filled with writing, a couple of sketches, and some notes on songs. The thought of going back to working on his song flitted through his mind, but he couldn't quite bring himself to disturb the silence of the night.

Freddie looked around himself, apprehensive. It was as though that thought had brought them back out into the open again. Was there someone – something – there, at the edge of the light? Waiting? He wasn't still asleep, was he? This wasn't a continuation of that dream where – ? Oh, it was all utter rubbish, of course. The flat was empty. Except for himself. And the cats. Of course. The nightmares were all in his own mind. But still. Better not disturb them.

Could he maybe call someone? Was there someone who'd answer? 

He toyed with the idea of calling Mary, pleading with her to come back. But he couldn't do that. He wouldn't ruin her weekend.

Or maybe he could call David? Oh, yes. That was a good idea. Wonderful David and his soft eyes and softer hair. That's who he would call. David who saw him. David who…

But no. They didn't know each other well enough yet. Did they? Would he be alarmed? Or repulsed, perhaps? Maybe he wouldn't want to have anything to do with Freddie if he did call him?

His hand hovered over the receiver. How about Brian? He would understand. Freddie wouldn't even need to say all that much to him, he'd know immediately what he meant. He'd know what Freddie needed. But no, he couldn't do that. Chrissy would kill him if he dared to call in the middle of the night, and so soon after the tour.

He shook his head, unwilling to bother his bandmate.

Somehow, it didn't feel right to call John, either. He didn't want to bother him with his troubles. He wasn't sure he would be able to explain it to him, at all. 

Well, then. Where did that leave him? 

Roger?

He wouldn't wonder, at least. He wouldn't ask too many questions.

Would he?

The image of Roger's sunny smile flashed in front of his eyes. It would tame the demons. If anything could, it was Roger's smile. 

But could he do that? In the middle of the night? Could he ask that of him?

He put his hand down, and made another round of the flat. A wailing siren flashed its way along the street outside. The shadows circled; tentatively, they edged closer. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. 

Too alone. Just too alone.

His mind made up, he walked back to the phone and dialled Roger's number, without letting himself think about what he was doing. How horribly self-absorbed he was being. How inconsiderate of others.

He listened to the ringing tone, counting under his breath. Four, five, six. Seven, eight, nine…

Finally, there was a click as the call connected.

"Hello?"

Freddie exhaled audibly. He could feel his shoulders relaxing.

"Roger?"

"I – Freddie?"

"I'm so sorry for calling in the middle of the night, Rog," Freddie said, rushed, the words stumbling over each other in their hurry. "I'm so sorry for waking you."

"Nah, it's not a problem. I wasn't asleep, really."

Freddie was sure he was lying, so raspy was his voice. But he couldn't bring himself to feel too guilty. His relief was too great for that.

"What is it? What's wrong, Fred?"

"I was – well, I have a favour to ask of you."

"Yeah?" Roger sounded marginally more awake now.

"Could you – do you think you could come over?"

"Right now? What's the matter? Did something happen?" 

"Well, no, I just – it's, I couldn't sleep and – " He flailed about, trying to quickly come up with some kind of an excuse, some kind of an explanation for why he was calling. But Roger must have picked up on something in his voice nevertheless.

"Oh. Well. Um, yeah, sure. Why not."

"Would you really? Roger –"

" 's no problem. Just give me a moment, I'll hop in the car and be right there. I'll see you soon. Okay?" The final word ended in a yawn.

"Oh. Oh, thank you. Yes, see you, then."

"I'll be right over."

Freddie lowered the receiver, blinking against a suspicious moisture at the corners of his eyes. How could Roger have known that he didn't want to explain himself, just like that? And promised to come right away?

He thought. At this time of night, the trip from Richmond to Holland Road couldn't take Roger all that long. Fifteen minutes? At most. Ten? Was Roger maybe already on the way? Probably not, not quite yet. But soon? Maybe a couple of those minutes were already gone?

And now? Was Roger already at the roundabout? Or somewhere near it? The way from there to Kensington was pretty straightforward, and couldn't take too long. Maybe it would take him five more minutes from there? No, that was too optimistic. But either way, it couldn't be too long now. 

Maybe he could take the teacups out, offer Roger some tea? That was the least he could do, really, after dragging him out of bed and all the way here.

The pretty ones? The ones with the floral pattern? Would Roger think that was too much?

Irresolute, he found himself picking up the same blue and golden record sleeve again, thinking back to the music.

_Oh, forever angry gods, never placated gods…_

That was just it, wasn't it? No matter what he did, no matter how successful they became, no matter what he tried, it would never be enough, would it? He would never be enough. Never what he should be. The gods would never be satisfied… 

In the stillness of the night, he could hear a car drawing up outside and stopping. He was startled out of his contemplation. He listened to footsteps crossing the pavement, and then walking up the stairs. The doorbell rang, shrill and startlingly loud. And then Roger was there, looking a little rumpled. His eyelids were drooping a little with fatigue, but otherwise, he looked no worse for wear. Roger removed his glasses from his nose, rubbing at his eyes.

He brought life with him to the flat; noise and movement, safety and friendship. Freddie wasn't alone in the world after all. The demons receded a little. They didn't disappear altogether – he could feel them waiting on the sidelines of his mind – but as long as Roger was there, they furled their wings around them and waited. As long as Roger stayed, they wouldn't attack. 

"Tea, dear?"

"Yeah, don't mind if I do," Roger said. 

Freddie went to put on the kettle. When he came back with the cups and saucers (he had picked the pretty ones after all), Roger had taken a seat by the table.

"I put your opera record away. I hope that's okay," he said, looking closely at Freddie.

"Oh, of course," Freddie said. "It was just – I was just thinking about – about all of that, that's all."

"Thinking about what?"

"It's nothing, really. Just the story of it. It's Ulysses, you know."

Roger nodded, waiting for a further explanation.

"Well. You see, he's despairing, there, at the beginning of the story. He's trying to get home and he can't. He's alone and desperate and he doesn't know where he is. And he sings this thing where he says that you shouldn't trust in shadows. Or actually, I think he means dreams, there. But anyway. He says that if you listen to the shadows, you only have yourself to blame when things go wrong."

"So you mean that –"

"No, I'm sure it's all, you know, that it's all just rubbish." He looked away from Roger's bright blue eyes. They were focused on him, familiar, too knowing.

"It's just that – I can't help thinking. For all we've tried. For all I've tried. It's still not enough, is it? The tour was – we were _good,_ you know? But we're still not there. We're running out of time. And out of chances. And what if – what if I've just had my head filled with useless dreams all this time and –"

"Freddie." Roger moved out of his chair and started towards him. The shrill whistle of the tea kettle startled them both, and they moved towards the sound at the same time. 

Getting the tea became a bit of a confused affair, but the laughter that accompanied it made something in Freddie's chest loosen. He no longer needed to remind himself to keep breathing. He looked fondly at Roger's untidy mop of blond hair, getting him an ashtray from the side table when he lit a cigarette.

"I'm not going to let you get away with that so easily, you know," Roger said, blowing a thin plume of smoke out of his mouth. 

"What?"

"What you just said, Freddie. About how dreams are useless and how you shouldn't listen to them. I don't agree with you."

"Oh?"

"I don't," Roger, pointing at him with his cigarette. "If we didn't have a dream, if we didn't have something we were working towards – well, we wouldn't be here, would we? Sitting here after a brilliant tour. And we're not stopping here, Freddie. We're not done dreaming. We're going to be more than just enough. Once we start with the new album, you'll see. We're going to be big. We're going to be massive."

Freddie smiled, a little crooked, not quite daring to let himself trust in Roger's words.

"Don't give me that look, Freddie. How can you doubt us, after Japan? After that reception we got?" He shook his head. "And you sitting there, in that kimono? Leave the bloody opera be. That's not our story. We'll write our own."

Freddie shook his head, ruefully. "Well, I suppose. But it's just easier – you know, when you're on your own and your thoughts keep going around and around – oh, let's just talk about something else, shall we?"

"Right, right," Roger said easily. But his eyes were still sharp when he looked at Freddie. He would be willing to let it go, but only for now. He wouldn't forget this conversation, his gaze told Freddie.

"So, Japan," he said instead. "I still can't believe it. Did that actually happen?" Roger's laugh was carefree and delighted.

"Yes. It's so strange to be back here and find that nothing has changed. Isn't it?"

"But do you remember that night in – Nagoya, wasn't it?"

They drank their tea amid laughter and companionship. The dark wings in Freddie's mind were almost nothing more than a distant memory at this point.

When they had finished and were putting the cups in the sink, Roger turned to Freddie.

"Go on, then, Fred. I'm curious. Why did you call me? Why not any of the others? Or one of your other friends?"

"You – well, you know. You're – the nightmares won't come near you," Freddie said, with a laugh, trying to pass off the odd remark as a joke. He didn't look at Roger as he cleared his throat and tried to work up his courage.

"Could you – Roger, can I ask you for one more thing?"

"Anything, Freddie. You know that."

"Oh, it's not – but I was – would you stay the night? I'm sorry, I'm sure you have your own plans and it's not a good time and everything, and you must be completely sick of me and –"

"Sure thing, Freddie. You don't really need to ask," Roger said, cutting off his rambling.

And that was it.

They had seen so many small flatshares, they had shared enough rooms and been in so many cheap hotels that sharing one more bed didn't faze them much. They'd been there often enough before; they didn't even need to discuss it. 

Freddie drew a blanket up under his chin, burrowing under it. Roger had done likewise: only a tuft of his hair was visible on the next pillow, but Freddie could feel the comforting warmth of his body next to him. Roger's breathing slowed and became regular as he fell asleep. Freddie listened to its calm rhythm and felt at ease. 

Just this once, this one time, this last time, he would let himself be comforted by Roger's presence. But he couldn't keep doing this; he couldn't keep imposing himself on Roger like this. The next time this happened, the next time he was left alone with only his circling thoughts for company (and it would inevitably happen, sooner rather than later) he would have to come up with a proper plan. Find someone else to turn to. 

But for tonight, maybe the demons would stay away. He listened to the faint snuffling coming from beside him. The shadows would have to fend for themselves. Finally, Freddie fell asleep and slept calmly, and he remembered no dreams in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering – Freddie is listening to Monteverdi's _Il ritorno d'Ulisse in patria_ ("The Return of Ulysses to His Homeland"), the Nicolaus Harnoncourt/Concentus Musicus Wien recording from 1971 (the one with the blue and gold cover).  
> [Here's one version of Ulysses' lament that I like](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D89wvwuGL6E)
> 
> (Of course I have no idea of what Freddie's actual thoughts on Monteverdi were!)  
> My translation of the text is a bit approximate, for story purposes.
> 
> Do tell me what you thought! I'd love to hear from you!


End file.
